A Troubled Mind
by TheClumsyHero
Summary: AGOS SPOILERS. ONE-SHOT Watson has never been the same since the loss of his best friend, and since the incident, he has been plagued by terrible nightmares, which causes him to reminisce on a particular meeting between Holmes and Moriarty. Rated K For slight language. Just being safe!


John Watson. From the eyes of a stranger it seemed that he had things going his way, He had a beautiful home, with a wife even more beautiful waiting inside of that home for him each evening. His job was exactly what he had wanted to do; he was helping people to add onto that. It was a wonderful thing. He seemed to have the perfect life…when in all actuality, it was far from it. On the exterior, he seemed like a happy man. It wasn't until you reached the confinement of his home that you found what was really lurking in the shadows. Not even Mary knew the full extent of what her husband felt, for it was in the darkness of the night that the horrors of the past would creep back, wreaking havoc upon the man's sleep induced mind.

The nightmares that tormented him seemed to vary from his different experiences that the doctor had been through over the span of his life, and were actually had begun occurring recently; very recently to be honest. Before most were just about the solved cases he had gone through, the dangerous people he had met and most certainly about his adventures across the bloody world. Though, that was all thanks to none other than the famous detective; Sherlock Holmes, who in fact seemed to join Watson in many of the escapades, even within the man's subconscious. The dreams varied from things such as poisonous snakes, to running from a blood thirsty hound, to dodging bullets (which was rather reoccurring, seeing how many times Watson had been shot at in his life)… though it was recently, that they had turned sour. The nightmares that plagued the doctor's mind were getting worse as the days progressed. Though, the various heart-pounding moments that would cause his hands to tremble and his stomach to lurch could never hold a candle to the worst one of all, which also happened to be the most occurring one. That was meeting Holmes in the storage building, whilst in Germany. He remembered every tiny detail of that horrible night, from sending that message to Mycroft, to the ride in the boxcar. But there was one detail, one minuscule detail that maddened the doctor in the darkness of the night, when he would awake with a startle, his body wracked with a slight trembling as he attempted to catch his jagged and uneven breath. Nothing had been enough to make an impression such as this. That something had taken the doctor completely by surprise, and had caused the adrenaline to pump through his veins, pushing him forward to work as fast as he could as he was slowly taken over by a blind rage until he could only pay attention to that one thing ailing him;  
The pained screams of Sherlock Holmes.

Watson had always seen Holmes as this untouchable force, and whenever it was knocked down, it simply came back three times stronger than it had been the first. He was a genius. He was his best friend. He had even seen Holmes as some untouchable force, though of course that thought was quickly wiped away when he had shown up at a ungodly hour of the night covered in sweat and blood, not to mention an unbelievable amount of bruises, courtesy of the bar fights he frequently decided that he would attend. Watson couldn't lie, he was good…but he wasn't invincible. So why in the name of God would he think so when they were out on dangerous tasks such as this? He had put Sherlock above pain! Above emotion! He had never seen him shed a tear, not after he had received numerous injuries the average man wouldn't think of. The man drank embalming fluid, eye drops, and Watson knew he had gotten himself addicted to morphine during his absence from Baker Street, it was easy to see when he was agitated beyond belief, having finally run out of the damn fluid. But he survived without so much of a whine. Now of course he had almost made it like a mission to make Watson's like irritating, but never had he ever heard anything swerving from that.

So this was almost unbearable.

Each time it varied, from him seeing the man in pain, to just standing and hearing the screams never ending. And when he would awake from the terrible sight, he couldn't sway himself from thinking about anything but the event. He didn't even want to imagine what Moriarty had done to his friend. He had seen the hook lodged in his shoulder as he lay beneath the rubble of the destroyed building. Hell, he had ripped the thing out himself! It hadn't even crossed his mind to ask at the time. Holmes most certainly needed time. Any normal person would have been a complete mess from such a terrible situation. But Holmes wasn't like other people. And yet he had screamed…the most pain filled and heart wrenching scream Watson had ever heard in his life. He needed time before Watson asked, and he was happy to give it… little did he know that that was time he would never have. Because now that his friend was gone…all he had left was that scream, piercing his ear drums over that damned German music that man had playing throughout the property. It would be a song that haunted him forever. And try and try as he may, all the good and happy thoughts of his friend would cloud with guilt when Watson realized how he had spent the last few months of his life.

Alone.

Watson had left his friend alone, after his constant attempts of trying to convince Watson to stay. He would make up the most outrageous excuses he had ever heard, and Watson just disregarded it as a childish act, as a Sherlock Holmes act. He was a selfish, self-centered bastard half of the time. Little did Watson know how wrong he was back then. Holmes was just _lonely._ Looking at his social life, Watson was really all Holmes had. And then he left him. He had Gladstone, Watson tried to convince himself, but it just came down to 'he's just a dog'. And of course there was Mrs. Hudson…but he doubted Holmes even tried to play nice with her. He was probably driving her even more mad than usual with his explosions and unsanitary nature. Watson should have recognized the signs. The bar fights he attended had increased, the off behavior. But now it was too late…and there was no point dwelling on the past. It only brought about guilt; guilt and the pained feeling that Watson felt daily. This detective, whom changed his life forever, put him in constant danger and constantly got in his hair and irritated him beyond believe, was missed. John missed him. And all he could do about it was think of the wonderful times they had been through together, and finish his stories of the adventures they had had together. 


End file.
